


He always ran

by liliaeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Evil Sam Winchester, M/M, Mild Gore, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, bad things happening to the impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/pseuds/liliaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean always ran, Sam always caught him</p>
            </blockquote>





	He always ran

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much to linvro21 and cmsserenity for making this readable

Dean knew he shouldn’t do it.

He knew that Sam would be pissed off, come after him, and that it’d be worse once Sam caught up with him. But he still couldn’t help himself.

 

He usually knew it was coming on, when it was getting harder to breathe just being around Sam, when he would startle whenever Sam entered the room, or at the sound of Sam’s voice.

He’d get these jitters going up his spine, and cringe at the merest sound, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

There was nothing specific that would trigger it.

 

Dean would run, sometimes for a few hours. Sometimes for a few days, but Sam would always track him down, find him, and look at him with such disappointment in his eyes that Dean wished his brother would just punish him already.

 

Dean could deal with the punishments, the whippings, the branding, the brutal fuckings. Dean could even deal with getting put on the rack and having his skin scraped off.

 

He couldn’t deal with that look in Sam’s eyes, because Sam looked like Sammy in those moments. And no matter what happened, Dean hated to hurt his little brother.

Dean had learned a long time ago not to look for help when he went on one of his runs. Not since Jo had tried to help him hide out, and Sam had handed her over to some of his lackeys, making Dean watch as they ripped into her. They hadn’t been allowed to kill her, Sam wouldn’t let any of them kill any of their friends. Not Jo, not Ellen, not even Bobby or Chuck. But he said she needed to learn not to steal from Sam. Those had been Sam’s exact words, as if Dean was his favorite toy.

Sam had healed Jo and sent her home to her mother, but Dean hadn’t been allowed to see her after that. The last he’d seen of her, had been that look in her eyes, as if part of her was gone and she was just a broken doll, glued back together by a child with no idea where all the pieces were supposed to go.

After that, Dean didn't dare endanger outsiders anymore, not that anyone would want to help him. The last time Dean had asked a stranger for help, Sam had made a national broadcast out of it, publicly executing any and all people that had helped Dean, after torturing their family members in front of them. Sam had stood there, wiping his hands on one of his victims' shirts, before facing the camera. That had been the one time Dean had come back home on his own.

Sam had welcomed him at the door, his arms crossed when he saw Dean coming. He hadn’t said a word, just pulled Dean in and then spent the next few days tearing into him with a whip made out of the Impala’s leather cushions. Sam had made sure to let Dean know just how much effort it had taken to strengthen the leather just enough to give Dean such a special present.

The car was long gone, it’s metal used for Dean’s collar, and some of the cockrings and toys that Sam made him use when he didn’t have Sam’s own dick in his ass. Baby’s engine and front seat were now part of a fucking machine that Sam had made him build for when Sam was … too busy to attend to Dean.

Dean had tried to refuse, but … there was no refusing Sam. His brother had stood there and watched after he gave Dean the tools he needed for this specific project. He didn’t need to make any threats.

 

Sam said seeing how much Dean love building things, he should be happy that he was allowed to make something so special for his own use.

 

Dean had taken the engine and every part of it that Sam allowed and made this chair with a large plastic dildo on it. That was the one thing that Sam had contributed, stating that it was not optional. Sam had made it clear what he wanted out of the toy, all the special options he needed, and Dean had done as his brother told him to, like he always did.

Most of the time, Sam would just make him sit on it, open himself up for Sam’s use. Sometimes Sam would turn it on, but most of the time Dean would have to fuck himself on the fake cock, molded after Sam’s own, even as he felt the rustle of the leather of the Impala’s seat against his back.

 

And sometimes while Sam was working, he’d make Dean take his place behind the wheel. He called it a reward, called it ‘letting Dean drive the Impala’. And Dean would cry as he rode the dildo and held on to the steering wheel while he did so. And he’d apologize to his baby for what was done to her every single time.

Sam wouldn’t turn off the machine until after Dean was too fucked up to move. Then he’d pick Dean up and carry him over to the pet bed in the corner of the office, caress Dean’s face and tell him what a good boy he was. Dean would never try to run after one of those days; he just didn't have the strength for it.

Sometimes Dean ran to hide; sometimes he’d just run to sit outside and stare at what was left of the sun and feel the air on his skin.

 

It didn’t matter why he ran. Sam still found him, and Sam would still punish him.

Sometimes Dean wondered if that was why he ran, to get that punishment, to make up for sitting just there and letting it happen - kneeling at his brother’s throne - while innocent people were slaughtered in front of him.

 

He couldn’t die, Sam wouldn’t allow it, he couldn’t even hurt himself, because Sam wouldn’t let him. But if he ran, Sam would come after him and punish him. Always. Every time.

 

And for a brief moment it made up for giving in, for not saving Sam.

But it never lasted.

Dean would never beg, neither for mercy, nor for punishment. But sometimes… sometimes Dean thought that Sam knew. When the whip would hit Dean’s back, and the hot pokers would burn his feet and Sam would lick over the wounds and tell him to just let go and scream. When Sam would tell him that he didn’t have a choice, so he might as well enjoy himself.

 

Dean hated it when he did that.

So Dean would kneel when Sam found him because Dean knew he had to be punished, and Sam had to be the one to punish him. It was the only forgiveness he’d ever find.

He only ran to be found.

And Sam always came through for him.


End file.
